


Love's Philosophy

by princedave



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley, The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 20:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14433039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princedave/pseuds/princedave
Summary: In the year 1891, Victor and Henry decide to travel Europe, initially staying in London where they meet an intriguing young aristocrat named Dorian Gray.  Romance and tragedy ensue.(Characters are based solely on their original novel counterparts though changes have been made- y'know, because otherwise Victor would be loooooooooooooooooong dead before 1891 and YEAH)





	1. An Encounter

Victor had never known much of beauty until his excursion to London.  
He had known few women in his twenty years of life. His mother was one of them, a strong and elegant woman of weary countenance, though she had passed on some three years ago. He’d known Elizabeth and Justine also, girls his own age with soft hair and pale complexions, though he’d never experienced as striking beauty as the boy in the gardens he had met.  
Henry, his companion since childhood, had been far more interested in botany than Victor could understand, and so had asked Victor to accompany him on a tour of a public garden. He’d accepted, in hopes of taking his mind off his encounter with the creature and his dreadful request for a mate, and though he could not share Henry’s enthusiasm for the plants and landscapes around him, he had no strong dislike for the scenery before him.  
“Oh Victor, look! A maze!” Henry had exclaimed, excitedly gesturing to the mass of thick hedges before them. “Oh, we must go in!”  
Though reluctant, and still admittedly plagued with thoughts of the creature, Victor had donned a smile and nodded his consent, his mind momentarily eased by the happy sight of Henry excitedly entering the maze.  
While Victor had tried to keep up with Henry, he found himself alone and quite lost some minutes after entering the maze. Though he knew it foolish, he felt a building anxiety in his chest, as he wandered fearful and alone between great verdant hedges, until he cried out Henry’s name in a panicked outburst.  
Beyond the foliage of one side of the maze, he heard a voice call out to him.  
“Hello? Are you quite alright?”  
The voice did not belong to henry, Victor was certain enough of that, but the fear that gripped him became too much even to care, and so he fled in the direction of the voice.  
He turned the corner to the source of the voice, and it was there, amongst fleeting butterflies and lush green leaves that Victor became entirely acquainted with extreme and powerful beauty.  
Standing between the hedges was a boy, no older than Victor, dressed wonderfully in a blue the same shade as his eyes, blond curls delicately twisting over the collar of his overcoat and framing a sinless and delicate visage. He stood, a concerned and curious expression forming across his countenance, walking slowly over to Victor.  
“Was that you who cried out so painfully?” He enquired, voice softer than before with a texture of fine silk.  
Victor swallowed, though inaudibly. All coherent thoughts seemingly escaped him as he was enraptured by the beauty of the man before him.  
“Victor?” A louder, coarser voice sounded behind him. Victor turned swiftly, filled with relief to find Henry peering through the leaves, eyes filled with worry.  
At once, Victor joined his side, burying his head affectionately in his companion’s shoulder.  
“Oh, Henry I thought I had surely lost you,” he wept, though his tears were that of relief.  
As he drew himself away from his friend’s shoulder, Victor became aware of the boy who had called to him, still standing there and watching his pathetic crying upon Henry’s arm. He cleared his throat.  
“My apologies if my cries startled you,” he began, sheepishly. He blushed lightly as he saw the boy smile at him. “I believed my friend here to be lost and it quite overwhelmed me.”  
The boy nodded, a haze of sympathy glassing his eyes.  
“That’s very endearing,” he said, and it sounded as though his words were genuine. He paused for a moment. “My name is Dorian Gray.”  
Victor stood for a moment, unmoving, thinking about how the name suited the boy in all its beauty. Only after Henry introduced himself to Dorian did Victor realise he ought to respond.  
“I am Victor Frankenstein, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”  
Dorian’s eyes regarded Victor with an undisguised interest for several moments, before he eventually cleared his throat.  
“Well Mr Frankenstein, Mr Clerval, it has been a pleasant meeting although I’m afraid I have an appointment that I really shouldn’t be late for.” Dorian tucked a stray lock of curled blond hair behind his ear as he said this, his eyes still fixed closely and widely on Victor. He smiled, thoughtfully. “I hope to see you again, perhaps.”  
“Perhaps.” Victor responded, his voice small and pathetic in comparison to the elegance of Dorian’s. He watched as Dorian edged past him, their shoulders brushing fleetingly before he disappeared into the maze.  
“Let us return back to the inn, Victor.” Henry spoke, gently. His voice soothed Victor’s elevated heart, his worry for the other boy evident in everything he did.  
Victor nodded, Henry leading them out the maze with his hand still protectively pressed against Victor, guiding him. Looking up through tired, half-lidded eyes, he saw Dorian in the distance, stepping into an ornate cab and laughing blithely at something the driver had said. He continued to watch where Dorian had stood, even after the horses had drawn him away.  
Something within him felt very changed at having met Dorian. There was a strange lightness in his head and his heart that filled him with euphoria. He hoped desperately that they would indeed meet again.


	2. Excitement

Basil had appeared so disproving of Dorian spending so much time with Harry, yet Dorian could not fathom why. The latter was filled with such wisdom beyond his years and a stark cynicism of a refreshing quality, in addition to always complimenting Dorian’s appearance and hedonistic ventures.   
Naturally, it was Harry who was the first to know of Dorian’s encounter with the young Swiss men in the maze.   
“It was clear that they cared so deeply for each other, Harry, it was so wonderful to see such a perfect friendship,” Dorian had rambled, his mind casting back to Victor and Henry. He smiled to himself. “I do hope it won’t be my only encounter with them, they struck me as interesting people within just minutes of meeting.”  
Lord Henry nodded, taking a brief drag of a cigarette lazily balanced between his fingers.   
“If you do see them again, perhaps you ought to invite them to dinner. I should like to meet this endearing couple of yours.”  
Dorian smiled, resting back into his chair languidly as he breathed in the exhaled smoke of his friend.  
“Oh I would love for you to meet them! When I find them again I’ll certainly ask, and perhaps Basil should like to meet them too?”  
“I’m sure he would, though you do seem overly excited for a couple of boys you’ve scarcely met.”  
Frowning, Dorian sat up.  
“Why should I not be excited? Oh Harry, maybe it sounds ridiculous but something about them filled me with such a hope, it’s as though I already know them as well as myself!”  
Lord Henry smiled, his countenance softening at the sentiment of the young boy before him. He extinguished the cigarette, breathing in the fading scent of ash and tobacco before he stood up.   
“Then I wish you the best of luck in finding them, Dorian,” he said, and he pulled on his coat with a series of shrugs. “Are you coming to the club tonight?”   
Dorian considered this for a time before shaking his head.  
“Not tonight, Harry, no,” he decided, standing up to show his friend to the door. “I think it’s best if I sleep earlier this evening- so I might have better alertness in finding my friends tomorrow.”  
Lord Henry chuckled at the boy’s response, waving at him as he left the house.   
Dorian peered through the window as he watched Lord Henry step into a cab and descend down the street. He poured himself a drink, admiring the way the candles flickered and danced in the otherwise lightless room.   
As he drank, his thoughts returned to the boys he had met, though specifically to Victor and his fragile form. He thought longingly of the other boy’s waves of dark hair, his pearly complexion and the slight desperation in his eyes. He appeared unsure of himself, pained by something, and Dorian could certainly empathise with that. He frowned, thinking of the picture that hung by itself in the attic. His behaviours could flip form moral to sinful multiple times a day, depending on whether he decided the portrait mattered to him or not. Often, he pretended he cared not for it. Often, this was not the case.   
Still, he thought, setting his empty glass down and proceeding up his staircase. The ugliness of his actions never showed on his countenance, and that filled him with a hope that perhaps he could still do good in the world. Besides, who was deciding the morality of his actions? Was it so objective?  
He did not know. He did know, however that seeing Victor once more would do him well, and that was something he felt sure of.   
He sank into bed, his body weary from the day’s events, his mind electric and awake. He supposed that any he dreams he might have would be of an exciting nature, and this was true, for he dreamt of a forest fire, trees engulfed by flame and smoke, the air strangely fragrant through the scent of burning pine. He knew not of what it meant, though it invigorated him, when he woke.


	3. A Discussion Over Tea

Victor awoke before Henry, having slept deeply instead of restlessly for the first time in months. He decided to head out by himself on a walk before Henry stirred, and so left a note detailing that he would return before eleven at the latest.   
The morning was a blissfully warm affair, the sun peering discreetly through thin clouds and warming the pavement he walked upon. He felt content as he paced through various streets, taking in the scenes of life before him and the elaborate architecture of some of the old houses.   
It was from one of these old houses, in fact, that he recognised the form of a boy stepping gracefully down a set of stairs, his golden hair glistening under the pale sunlight.   
Victor paused for a moment, wondering if he should make himself known to Dorian, or return back to Henry through the winding streets. Thankfully, he did not have to make the decision, as Dorian recognised him near instantly.   
“Mr Frankenstein! My, what a surprise!” The boy called out, with little consideration to the otherwise peaceful road.   
Victor smiled and walked towards him, meeting Dorian in the middle of the street where they then shook hands. He swallowed, slightly nervous of Dorian though he could not understand why.   
“I assure you, my being here is entirely an accident, though a happy one it would seem,” he said, his eyes regarding Dorian and his perfectly framed face.   
“It must be fate that you came to my address- just as I was leaving in hopes of finding you! Oh, where is Mr Clerval? He is still with you I hope?”  
“I left him asleep- I could not disturb him,” Victor replied, a smile forming on his lips at the thought of his peaceful friend, asleep. He raised an eyebrow. “Might I ask why you wanted to find us?”  
Dorian beamed, and though he had been heading out, he beckoned Victor to follow him to his home. “I told my friend of you and he asked me if he could meet you himself! If you’ve no plans for dinner tonight, perhaps you and Mr Clerval would like to dine with us?”  
Victor considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly.   
“That is a kind offer Mr Gray, I should think Henry and I would like that very much.”  
“Please, call me Dorian.”  
“Dorian,” he repeated, memorising the way his tongue shaped the word. He nodded once more. “And you may call me Victor.”  
Dorian smiled at the newfound familiarity, opening the front door of his house and beckoning Victor inside. As Victor passed by him into the garishly decorated entrance, he admired the way the boy’s eyes lit up with a fascinated curiosity at seeing such fine furnishings.   
“You have a beautiful home, Mr Gray,” Victor murmured.  
“Dorian,” the other boy corrected him, strolling out in front of Victor and leading him into the drawing room. “Did you breakfast before you came? I’m sure my servant can arrange a meal for you, if you’d like.”  
“No, I’m fine, really. Thank you, though,” Victor replied. He had not eaten, but this was not unusual for him and he felt no urgent hunger.   
“Tea then, perhaps? I shall be having some, won’t you join me?”  
Victor smiled and nodded, relenting to Dorian’s persistence and sitting down in a chair by the fireplace as his host was gesturing him to do so.   
“Wonderful, I’ve recently been found of jasmine tea- it’s incredibly fragrant,” Dorian enthused with a glimmer in his blue eyes. “I shall get my servant to fetch us some. His name is Victor as well, come to think of it, isn’t that strange!”  
The Victor sitting by the fire nodded in agreement as he stifled a laugh at Dorian’s almost manic demeanour. He watched as he scampered out of the drawing room, much like a cat, and heard him call out instructions to this other Victor. It all quite amused him.   
After a minute, Dorian returned, seating himself in the chair opposite to Victor. He sat forward, his back far from the back of the chair and stared into Victor’s eyes with a childlike glee.   
“Tell me about yourself Victor,” he asked, the other Victor setting down a tea tray on the table next to them.  
Victor sat in silent thought for a moment while Dorian sipped from his teacup. He wondered exactly what would interest the wealthy young man in front of him, the boy who appeared to have everything.   
“I believe there is not much to say about me,” he sighed, though thoughts of the creature flashed into his mind. He decided not to go into much detail about that though. “My father is a syndic and my mother passed away when I was seventeen.” His voice dropped as he remembered his mother, how little time he had to grieve for her before going to university. He busied himself with reaching for a teacup as he blinked back the tears forming in his eyes.   
“I lost my mother when I was young, too.” Dorian replied, setting his cup down. He folded his arms in his lap and for a moment he did not appear so confident. In this moment, he seemed nothing more than a frightened little boy, and the sight made Victor’s heart ache. “She was young- I scarcely knew her in all honesty,” he chuckled, albeit sadly. He reached across to victor, resting a hand atop of his. He said nothing more.   
Victor found that he did not flinch away from Dorian’s touch, as he would have done if some other stranger had touched him. He felt relaxed under the boy’s warm hands, softer than his own calloused palms. He nodded, and Dorian removed his hand from him. Victor wished that he hadn’t, though.   
“Such a morbid turn! Tell me something happy, Victor, of life! Not of death!”  
Dorian’s face once more brightened at his own words, his eyes lighting up as he exclaimed of life. He appeared so innocent, so trusting, that Victor almost felt as though he could confide his sins all at once to him.  
“Life is not always as happy as death, in my experience, Dorian.” He said slowly, taking a final sip of his tea. He stared down into the tealeaves in the cup, turning it around in his hands and watching how they moved. “I was once dreadfully wrong in assuming that it could be.”  
Dorian observed the young man searchingly, studying his serious countenance with an intrigued inquisitiveness.   
“Is that so? Please, do tell me of your experiences if you will,” he implored, curiously.   
Victor pursed his lips, a decision to be made. He partly enjoyed this fascination Dorian had for him, though he feared it just as deeply. His eyes glanced up to the window some feet away from him, and he saw before him the creature, shrouded in a heavy layer of clothes to disguise himself, though Victor recognised him instantly.   
With a startled cry, he dropped the teacup to the floor, where it did not break, but merely landed with a dull thud as Victor passed out in the chair.   
When eventually he was able to open his eyes, he found that the creature was nowhere to be seen, and instead he was staring into the face of Dorian Gray, who kneeled next to him with an expression of deep concern.   
“Victor! Thank God, I thought you’d never wake up!” He exclaimed, pulling the other boy to stand with him. He pressed a hand against Victor’s forehead, eliciting a shy blush from him as he pulled away.  
“I’m incredibly sorry for that, I have no idea what came over me,” he said, bending over to pick up his discarded teacup. As he rose, Dorian took the cup from him and rested it on a table with little care for it, his hands clasping Victor’s.   
“Don’t apologise to me, friend, please,” Dorian said, softly. “Do you need to rest? I could send for Henry, if you’d like?”  
While Victor’s pride desperately longed to decline Dorian’s offers, he once more felt a wave of dizziness take him, and he found himself nearly collapsing once more into Dorian’s arms.   
“If it is truly of no inconvenience to you?” He managed, weakly.   
Dorian steadied him with gentle ease.   
“I insist.”

Even Dorian’s guest rooms were an artwork to be admired, with their high ceilings and exquisite wallpapers. Victor had not cared much for art previously, yet now he felt enamoured with it, marvelling in a dreamlike state at how beautifully the room was adorned with excessive patterns.   
Dorian aided him in taking to bed, taking note from Victor of where their inn was located so that he could send a servant to bring Henry to him. He also assured Victor that he would stay by his side until Henry arrived, which calmed the weaker boy enough that he gratefully fell into a peaceful sleep.  
After Henry came to Victor’s room, Dorian left to go downstairs, unsure of where to put himself. At about half past twelve, he heard the doorbell chime, and outside stood Basil Hallward.   
“Basil! What a pleasant surprise, come in, please, come in,” Dorian said blithely, thankful for a distraction from his nerves. “Tell me, what brings you here my friend?”  
The older man smiled with a nervous charm, entering the house carefully, as though afraid to intrude.   
“I happened to be wandering nearby when I decided to pay you a visit! I also received a letter form harry this morning inviting me to dine with you both this evening- I hear you have some guests you wish to introduce us to?”  
Dorian nodded in transparent excitement, leading Basil to sit in the drawing room where he and Victor had sat less than two hours ago.   
“Oh yes, in fact they are upstairs right now! Resting, might I add, so I shan’t disturb them until this evening,” he rambled gladly.   
Basil could not help but raise his eyebrows at hearing that Dorian’s guests were upstairs in his rooms, but he made no comment of it. For all the rumours he had heard of the boy, Basil knew by his face that not a single one could be true. He easily dismissed lies of Dorian’s alleged promiscuity with men of the city.   
“I shall be glad to meet them, Dorian, oh, you are looking so well!”  
He could not help but gaze with a look of idolatry at Dorian, as it had been weeks since he had last seen the boy in person. Thinking of this, he frowned, looking around the room.  
“Dorian, might I ask where you display the picture I painted of you? I should very much like to see it again, if that’s fine by you.”  
A sudden twinge of panic etched itself into Dorian’s features at this request, as he thought of the portrait hanging changed in the attic. He had not looked upon it in some weeks- not since Sybil had died, and so he felt a great worry at what the picture must look like now.   
“Aha!” He laughed, disguising his nerves with boyish humour. “Why, that would be fine by me, of course! It’s just unfortunate that have sent the picture to be reframed, but once it is back of course you may look at it!”  
Basil paused for a moment, the disingenuous tone of Dorian’s voice too clear to ignore, yet he did not argue or challenge the boy, deciding that perhaps he was unfair in his mistrust. Opposite him, Dorian relaxed in his chair with a charming expression.  
“Anyway, dear Basil, why should you want to look at the portrait when I am here myself? Is my face not pretty enough to suit you?”  
He smiled and arose once more, smoothing his hair down as he walked over to the window and gazed out, thoughtfully.   
“I shall be taking my guests to dinner at Claridge’s at eight o’clock this evening. Please be sure to join us if you can, I shall be sending someone to tell Harry of my plans shortly.” He said, lazily toying with a curtain while he watched a cab trundle by and past outside.   
“I can tell him,” Basil offered, his eyes shining with adoration as he watched the boy. “I did plan to visit him this afternoon.”  
“Wonderful, Basil, I thank you!” Dorian replied, and he turned around to face the other man. He smiled like God as Basil stood and headed towards the door, his eyes flickering in anticipation as he thought of introducing his two sets of friends. He felt a certain magic in the air, an enchantment, even. As he saw Basil leave, he wondered what the night would have in store.


	4. An Evening Without Stars

The hotel, Claridge’s, was unlike anything Victor, nor Henry, had ever seen. While Victor had been raised in wealth, his finery had never seemed so extravagant, so luxurious as the glittering skylights and chandeliers that illuminated the excessively decorated walls and floors of every room he entered. He could not help but feel entirely incongruous, despite Dorian’s kind donation of formal wear that he had lent to himself and Henry.   
While his childhood companion appeared too focused on taking in every inch of scenery, Victor quietly voiced his concerns to their host with a tone of typical self-loathing.   
“I fear that your friends will not enjoy my company, Dorian, in comparison to this hotel I worry that I will appear to be as lowly as a tramp to them.”  
Dorian laughed, resting a hand on Victor’s shoulder and smiling sympathetically as he felt him tense under his touch.   
“Your worry is for not, my friend, they have expressed such intrigue in meeting you that I believe anything you do shall impress them greatly.”  
And he was confident in this- more so than when he had tried to introduce them to Sybil so many months ago. They had little interest in meeting her and if he was honest, so did Dorian. He knew her artificially, only upon the stage. His new friends, however, he was learning to know truly, and he felt as though there was nothing they could do to disappoint him.   
“Ah, I see Harry and Basil! Come, I shall introduce you,” he exclaimed, releasing Victor’s shoulder and steering the duo over to where Lord Henry and Basil were seated.   
“Dorian! Good to see you at last! And I presume these must be your new friends?” Lord Henry spoke, loudly, yet scarcely enough to truly disturb any nearby.   
Dorian nodded, a grin widening in his face.   
“Of course, Harry! This, is Mr Henry Clerval, and Mr Victor Frankenstein,” he said, gesturing grandly to Henry and Victor respectively. “And this,” he said, “is Lord Henry Wotton and Mr Basil Hallward.”  
“Please, call me Harry,” offered Lord Henry, taking time to shake the hands of Victor and Henry. They sat down, the two strangers still admiring their ornate surroundings as champagne was swiftly poured into glasses beside them, eagerly offering feedback to Lord Henry as he spoke a meandering anecdote, of which truly, Victor found no interest in.   
“Might I ask what your plans are after you leave London?” Asked Basil once Harry was finished. He displayed a friendly, yet hopelessly forgettable demeanour, though there was a certain charm to his countenance that convinced both Victor and Henry that his questions were of genuine curiosity, rather than politeness, and the duo regarded him much preferably compared to his old friend.   
“We plan to travel to Edinburgh on tomorrow’s evening,” Henry responded, a happiness audibly present in his words.   
Lord Henry and Basil both nodded with a hum of approval, though Victor noticed a distress on the delicate features of Dorian’s face.   
“You are leaving so soon?” The blond youth asked, dejectedly. He appeared visibly to shake as he attempted to maintain composure, though his eyes sparkled tears softly under the chandeliers as they welled and tears trickled gently down his cheeks. He stood from his seat, excusing himself to go outside as Henry blithely described the plans he and Victor had for their journey.   
Concerned with the emotions of his new friend, Victor too excused himself from the party, finding now that the lights of the room were much too hot, and the alcohol, which he was unused to drinking, made his head feel lighter than the cigar-smoke air.   
He searched through the windows of the hotel for Dorian, before finding him leaning against the cold brick exterior, his eyes glassy as he stared out at the streets with a cathartic melancholy comparable to Lycius beholding the serpent.  
As Victor approached, Dorian looked up at him, his face marred only by the stains of dried tears reflected by the moonlight as he turned to regard his friend.   
“I am sorry, truly,” Dorian choked with a disingenuous laugh. His faux humour only served to more bitterly contrast in his sadness and the sight caused tears to prick in Victor’s own eyes.   
“There is nothing to be sorry for, I only hope that you are alright,” he replied, his hand reaching out to rest on Dorian’s shoulder. The cool night air cured him of his light head and ill-feelings, the sky above them wonderfully dark, yet illuminated by stars. He regarded them with little admiration, however, his priorities focused solely on Dorian as he continued to suppress the tears building in his eyes.   
“I suppose a combination of excitement and champagne is not always a happy one where I am concerned,” Dorian smiled and he rested a hand atop of the hand Victor rested on his shoulder. “I had just hoped perhaps that I might get to know you better before you left.”  
Upon hearing this, Victor’s heart fluttered, both flattered and saddened by the boy’s comment. He smiled, a single tear slipping down his cheek as he offered comfort to his friend.  
“I promise you, we shall return to London before we leave for Geneva, Dorian, I swear it!” he said, and he managed to smile with a tragic grace as he spoke these words, his heart truly warmed by the prospect of becoming true lifelong friends with the boy before him.  
At his words, Dorian found himself capable of genuine happiness as he turned to the boy to impulsively envelope him in a tight embrace.   
“How wonderful! Perhaps one day though, you might take me with you to Geneva? I should greatly love to visit Europe one day.”  
“Of course, of course!” Victor responded with warmth, his heart once more light and weightless from the feeling of being held. He laughed with the boy, allowing him to wipe away the tears that had marked his pearly complexion, and they headed inside to once more join their kind, yet tipsy friends. 

The evening from then was filled with as much joy as a wedding party, and though Victor drank no more of the champagne, he felt a warm gladness in his soul as he felt truly as though he belonged right there with these merry men.   
Upon his and Henry’s departure back to their inn, Dorian pressed into Victor’s hand a small yet exquisitely designed signet ring, gleaming silver in appearance and cool to the touch.   
“This ring was given to me by my mother,” he murmured into Victor’s ear. “Please, keep it with you as a reminder to come back to me one day.”  
He pulled away from Victor’s ear and simply smiled as Victor was helped into the coach by Henry, the latter completely oblivious to their exchange.   
“What a truly wonderful way to conclude our stay in London!” Exclaimed Henry as the coach set off. His eyes sparkled, mesmerised by the dimly lit streetlamps that lined the cobbled streets.   
Victor smiled to his friend, and slipping the ring onto his finger, he nodded in absolute agreement.


	5. Confessions

It had been a month since Dorian had bade his new friends farewell, and though he went normally about his life, his mind often drifted off into thoughts of Victor, and that emotional encounter they had shared under the moonlight outside Claridge’s. His mind also frequently considered the portrait within the attic, though he had managed to avoid viewing it for some weeks.   
The weather had turned a bitter coldness in October, and it was on the night of the fifteenth that Dorian was sat in his parlour when he heard a sudden and desperate hammering on the front door.   
With fearful curiosity, he approached the door, hesitantly opening it with bated breath. Upon seeing his visitor, he gasped, instantly wrapping his arms around the shivering, emaciated boy that stood, scarcely illuminated under the dim, clouded starlight.   
“Victor! Oh my friend, oh my soul! Come, come back from that hideous cold! Goodness, you are thinner than last we met, oh Victor what has happened?”  
Beneath Dorian’s cries, Victor was silent, his eyes wide with a fearful horror, his arms clasping the other boy as though he might collapse. As he finished his excited speech, Dorian cradled the boy, bringing him gently to sit upon a chaise. He pried Victor’s tense arms from himself, stating that he would bring tea to the boy, though Victor shook his head violently and finally spoke.   
“Please don’t leave me alone, Dorian, please, I beg you!”  
At his frightened tone, Dorian sat beside him, an anxiousness rousing in his features though he took caution in maintaining his composure so as not to exacerbate the fear in his friend.   
“Victor, you alarm me, tell me, what is the matter?”  
“I have killed Henry!”  
As these words left his mouth, Victor found himself sobbing uncontrollably, burying his face in his hands as he trembled in despair.   
Next to him, Dorian swallowed, all colour draining from his countenance as he allowed the words of his companion to settle in.   
“Killed? Victor, please, I do not believe such a thing!”  
“Oh it is my fault, he has died by my hands, by my own mistake!”  
The distressed boy continued to murmur incoherently to himself, his face still hidden in his palms as he spoke.   
While Dorian found his friend’s statements more than bemusing, he was pained greatly by the display of such bitter tragedy before him. Delicately, he placed an arm around Victor’s hunched form, running his fingers through his unkempt dark hair until Victor’s sobbing calmed to a gentle conclusion, and he instead relaxed his tense body.   
They sat for a while simply like that, wordless and cathartically still, as the beginnings of rain began to tap softly against the window panes.   
It was Victor who spoke first, his eyes now dull and tired, his countenance depicting a harsh frustration as he sat up straight next to Dorian.   
“There is hardly any point in saving face, I now know,” he said with a dark tone. He focused his dark eyes on Dorian’s, staring into him with an expression of guilt now. “If I keep my secret from you, I fear it may come to harm you too!”  
He swallowed, and within him Dorian felt a great pity towards his friend, and though perhaps to expose his own secret to anyone else would have been a terrible idea, he felt at ease with the shivering boy next to him.   
“Victor, you have nothing to fear, I could never think less of you for any secret!” He paused, and then sighed. “Particularly not when I harbour a ghastly secret of my own.”  
His words sparked a bewilderment in Victor, who looked at him with once more wide eyes.   
“Truly? Oh, but I cannot see how your secret could be anywhere near as terrible as mine!”  
He appeared to be taken once more with extreme sorrow, however he managed to swallow back his sadness and instead recount his circumstances.   
“After the death of my mother, I wasted no time grieving and instead went immediately to university where I admit I found little pleasure in my studies. I cannot tell you what possessed me when I was seventeen, but I embarked on a two year experiment to create life from the dead using remains I managed to procure.”  
He paused for a moment, haunted by his own tale, and observed Dorian. His countenance displayed no ill-feeling, nor judgement, only sincere intrigue and concern. He continued.   
“It was November when my creation arose, and though throughout the two years I had waited with excitement for his animation, I was overcome by disgust at my own work! I fled the room, and the creature was gone by time I returned to it. I had hoped that would be the end of the ordeal, but I was a fool! I received word from my father sometime later that my youngest brother, William, had been found murdered, and-oh!”  
Unable to restrain his hysterics any longer, Victor’s eyes once more welled with tears, and at once Dorian was compelled to embrace his pitiful friend.   
Though his heart ached with the memories of his innocent brother’s cruel death, Victor calmed himself with swift determination, and still under Dorian’s arms he finished his tale.   
“The creature was of course responsible for my young brother’s death, though he framed a friend of my family, Justine, who was then hanged for murder. He has vowed never to leave me alone unless I create a female for his pleasure- and since I have refused he has now killed Henry.”  
He exhaled in relief as he finished, though he winced as he spoke of Henry’s terrifying murder. The memories of his ordeal in Ireland flashed angrily in his mind, though he was soothed by Dorian’s kindly voice.   
“My dear Victor, you are truly a tortured soul. I am moved by your story, truly! To be haunted by the whims of ones younger self is a curse, you cannot be blamed for these murders!”  
Though he did not believe the sentiment offered by Dorian, Victor felt indescribable joy at his friend’s simple acceptance, though he could not feel entirely at ease.   
“The creature will attack all those closest to me, and I am scared, Dorian! Truly, I can never forgive myself for Henry’s death, and I shall not cope at all if any such harm comes to you!”  
Dorian chuckled warmly, his fingers once again stroking through Victor’s hair as he continued to soothe the boy’s woes. He supposed this could be an appropriate cue to reveal his own secret.   
“I do not think you need to fear for me, Victor,” he murmured softly, allowing the boy to pull away from him so they could see into each other’s eyes. “I believe I have a defence against such a creature, one that I shall show you now.”  
He stood from the chaise, stretching out his hand and helping his friend to stand. Though confused, Victor followed the boy up the ivory staircase, various landscapes and portraits gleaming down at him from the thickly decorated walls of the landing.  
“I am taking you to the attic, Victor,” Dorian said, as another set of stairs revealed themselves behind a wall. “It was once my room as a child, though no one goes in there now except for me.”   
Victor noticed that Dorian’s hands shook as he removed a set of keys from his pocket and slipped a large, rusted key into the lock of the attic door. Before opening it, however, Dorian turned to face Victor with a great deal of anxiety present in his blue eyes.   
“Before I show you what is in this room, I wish to tell you that I care greatly for you, and I hope that what you find does not drastically alter your opinion of me.”  
Before Victor could reassure him of his affections, Dorian opened the door and pulled Victor into the darkened room, closing the door behind him.   
In the lightless room, Victor could vaguely make out Dorian’s silhouette striking a match before lighting a lamp nearby him. He clearly knew his way around this room in the dark all too well.   
Once the room was dimly illuminated, Dorian lead Victor over to what appeared to be a painting, covered by a thin screen. He regarded it curiously, before Dorian removed the screen, and before him was pictured a golden haired youth, and while Victor thought at once the painting resembled his friend, he noticed that there was a prominent touch of cruelty across the painting’s face, eyes red and teeth yellowed. It was a hideous attempt at Dorian’s likeness, so much so that Victor couldn’t help but laugh at the awful thing.  
“Dorian, tell me this is not supposed to be you, surely! How could an artist ever paint such foul features onto your face, they are surely an amateur!”  
He continued in his amusement until he observed the stern expression on Dorian’s face, and he fell silent in his laughter.   
For a moment nothing was said as Dorian merely stared at the floor in clear shame, though eventually he looked up and spoke.   
“You remember Basil, I’m sure? Yes, I thought you seemed to like each other,” he said, with a happy smile. “You remember also that he is an artist, and a talented one at that! It is he who painted this portrait, though not as it is, not ever as it is!”   
Dorian’s voice was tainted by melancholia, his lips trembling as he spoke. Upon seeing this, Victor reached out a hand to touch Dorian’s arm, and he felt that his body was also quaking.   
“It so happened that on the day the portrait was finished, I met Harry for the first time. I liked him, truly a lot, as he complimented me greatly as Basil painted.” He breathed out slowly. “Though he also informed me that one day my looks would fade, and I would wither with age. Of course, I knew this before, but to hear it allowed shocked and upset me! I became quite cross, and in my anger I wished for the picture to grow old in my place! I said I would give even my soul to forever stay the way I am, and it appears my wish was granted! The picture is altered by every sin I commit and every day I age- though I did not realise this until-“   
He trailed off, his eyes glancing down to the floor.   
“Until I broke the heart of a young girl.”  
Victor could read an expression of genuine shame upon Dorian’s face, and he watched, careful not to depict any judgement on his own face.  
“I was so cruel to her, cruel because she did not meet the expectations I had so recklessly projected upon her. She took her own life as a result.”  
Hearing this, Victor could not help but gasp, as his thoughts turned to Justine, who had also suffered such bitter injustices at his own foolishness. Dorian acknowledged his inhale, yet made no comment of it before he continued.  
“Before even I knew of her death the portrait was changed. A touch of cruelty to the mouth, here.”  
He gestured languidly to the mouth of his likeness, pale fingers tracing the harsh sneer on the still-rosy lips. He looked at Victor as he drew his hand away.  
“So perhaps my secret matches yours in its hideousness,” he said, softly. He smiled with some tone of disenchanted self-pity. “Or maybe it even exceeds it.”  
Victor shook his head adamantly at his suggestion, moving his hand down to meet Dorian’s hand,  
“I think we are both cursed in equal measures,” he said, and he squeezed the other boy’s hand comfortingly, before replacing the screen over the portrait. “If it is fine by you I think we should move into some happier room.”  
Dorian nodded, his eyes glittering in the lamplight with joy at his friend’s apathy towards his sins. He felt as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and he even felt an excitement at the exchange of their terrible secrets. Truly, he could trust Victor and Victor could trust him. The idea made him laugh aloud, which garnered him a look of curiosity from the latter.   
As they descended the steps of the attic room, Victor could not help but yawn- having not slept well since Henry’s untimely death. Noticing this, Dorian paused outside one of his guest rooms.   
“You are tired my friend, and the clock says we are in the early hours of tomorrow! Should you feel comfortable sleeping by yourself here?”  
He gestured to the door in front of them, and while Victor knew from experience that the room would be perfectly comfortable, he could not shake the anxiety that had held him since his last encounter with his creation.   
Upon witnessing this hesitation, Dorian continued to speak.  
“Or perhaps, if you are still uneasy, you should sleep in my room?”  
This suggestion appeared to please Victor infinitely more, and he nodded with a thankful smile as Dorian led him down the corridor to his own room. While the rest of the house was impossibly beautiful, it did not compare to the lavish decorations of Dorian’s personal room- which saw many silk drapes and pieces of ornate artwork, held by luxuriantly designed frames and illuminated by the pale moonlight that filled the room with a serene glow.   
The room contained an incredibly vast four poster bed, the sheets delicately embroidered by patterns of blossoms and rose petals, and across the room resided a chaise.   
“I’ll be comfortable on the chaise, so you may take the bed,” Dorian offered kindly, and he continued to insist even when Victor protested.   
“But won’t you find it hard to sleep there? Please, if you will not take the bed alone, then take it with me!” Victor exclaimed, and as the words left his mouth he prayed that Dorian would understand the innocence in his suggestion- though he blushed even so.   
Thankfully, Dorian relented to his protests and without even a hint of judgement, accepted the offer to share a bed.  
It had been some time since Victor had slept accompanied by someone else. As a child, he and Henry frequently shared beds, and on nights where his brothers or Elizabeth were disturbed by nightmares, he had always allowed them to sleep by him. He supposed that now that it was he who played the role of the frightened child.   
He lay next to Dorian in borrowed clothes, staring mostly at the ceiling as he willed himself to sleep. He had presumed Dorian was already asleep until he heard him speak.   
“Is there any way I can help you to sleep, Victor?”  
He turned to face Victor, propping his head up with his elbow against the pillow. His hair, only now falling into a state of disarray, framed his face softly, the golden curls gently obscuring his eyes.   
Victor paused, simply taking in Dorian’s unkempt beauty for a moment, before shaking his head.   
“You have already done do much for me, Dorian,” and he smiled, feeling for the first time truly safe from the creature with Dorian.   
The latter returned the smile and leaned closer to Victor, wrapping his arms around him- gently at first, worried that in bed his action may be perceived differently, though Victor made no protest. He simply seemed to relax under Dorian’s embrace, and within several minutes, both of them had fallen asleep.


	6. Midautumn's Night

“Today we shall go to the theatre,” Dorian announced, rather sporadically, after they had breakfasted.   
Victor raised an eyebrow.   
“Why?”  
“Because it is magical there!”   
Dorian smiled, his countenance warmed by thoughts of theatrics, and he stood from the seat where he had been drinking coffee and placed Victor’s hand in his as he pulled him up.   
“But before then we shall wander London, and I shall show you all of my favourite places!”  
He seemed as excited as a schoolboy leaving his desk for the summer, and Victor could not help but also laugh with him, his soul vibrant and lively as he watched Dorian pull on an overcoat.   
He had presumed they would tour London by Dorian’s preferred method of coach, but despite the abhorrent cold and grey weather, the pair instead walked through the city on foot.   
Though the sky trickled odiously throughout the day, Victor found that there was no simpler joy than experiencing the chaotic streets for himself, street food sellers offering small, warm comforts in the otherwise heartless climate.   
Dorian took pride in showing him various bookshops and landmarks, flooding his friend with sights of beauty and wreckage, intellect and simplicity. By the time they arrived at the theatre, Victor felt as though his legs would give way under him, though the feeling was enjoyed given the circumstances.   
The play being shown at this particular theatre on this particular evening was A Midsummer Night’s Dream, a play that Victor was familiar with, though he had never seen it performed. As he sat, happily spellbound by the actors on stage, he wondered if his life could perhaps always resemble the day he had had. Not a single vision, real or otherwise of the creature had plagued him at all that day, and he felt as a man his age should; carefree, inquisitive and joyous, for the first time in an age.   
He continued to laugh with Dorian even on their way out of the theatre, agreeing finally that it was indeed magical there. The lamplights were being lit as they paced the streets, and while the streets were much quieter than they had been, they retained a soft murmur of life even now.   
Eventually, Victor stopped in a secluded area overlooking the Thames, though his eyes were cast not to the river, but to the stars.   
“How beautiful the stars look right here!” he exclaimed with childish glee, his arms reaching up as if to grab the stars from the heavens. Dorian laughed at him.  
“And do they not look as beautiful in all places, my friend?”  
Victor shook his head as Dorian joined his side.  
“Not in all places, no. In some places they appear absolutely hideous if those places are corrupt.”  
“Corrupt by what?”  
“Memories.”  
At this, Victor drew his gaze from the sky and focused it instead on Dorian, a silent sadness apparent in his dark eyes.   
“You know, ever since I have met you, you’ve sparked my curiosity,” he said, and though there was gold in his voice, it seemed tarnished by a speck of shame, growing steadily until he could no longer meet Dorian’s gaze. His friend smiled.  
“I believe I could say such things about you and the way you have wreaked havoc on my mind. In ways some may consider improper, perhaps.”  
It was a risky statement, though it did not frighten Victor at all. Instead, it seemed to put him at ease.  
“Improper? Truly, I don’t quite know what you mean by that.”  
Dorian smiled, his head leaning closer towards his friend.   
“I could show you.”  
“What are you doing?”  
“Sparking your curiosity, it seems.”  
No sooner did he finish speaking, did he press his lips to Victor’s, unparalleled thrill racing through his body.   
For a moment Victor wondered if he should pull away, being taught subtly through art and literature that it is always women that men should fall in love with, though his head swam with love for another man now. He kissed back, his fingers gripping onto the lapels of Dorian’s overcoat as though he may fall, though at the same time he also felt as though they were flying.   
All too soon did they draw apart, cheeks flushed red and eyes only fleetingly being able to make contact with each other. Once more, they kissed, with a happy desperation that Victor had never felt before.   
“We shall go home now, away from the rest of the world I think,” Dorian spoke deeply, his hands gently cupping Victor’s face before they returned to the streets.  
They walked home, not hand in hand as both would have liked, but still closely by each other, their hands brushing where possible.   
The front door was barely closed behind them before Dorian pounced on Victor with an almost animalistic need, his lips trailing down his face to his neck, arms clasped firmly around his waist as he paused only to guide him upstairs. Victor didn’t even remember how they journeyed from the parlour to laying on Dorian’s bed, though he didn’t give much care for an explanation. All he could focus on was the feeling of Dorian on his lips as both struggled to remove their clothes without breaking the contact of their mouths. 

They lay in blissful silence afterward, the room dreamily illuminated by streetlamps reflected in the window outside as Victor traced hearts absentmindedly over Dorian’s exposed chest. For the most part, he felt entirely calm and impossibly happy, though in his mind still lingered the fear that he had done something immoral. He thought of his mother’s longing for his marriage to Elizabeth with utmost guilt, though it could not shadow the light that Dorian had brought into his life. He cast his hazy eyes up to Dorian, wondering if perhaps he too felt any shame at their affair, though his face seemed untroubled as ever. And if Victor was to see the hated portrait in the attic once more, he would also note that their recent actions had caused not a single change in the picture’s countenance.


	7. Wedding Preparations

A week passed over them quickly, their days mostly filled with languid kisses and fucking, with the occasional trip outside to the theatre and the opera. Though his life in this brief time seemed perfectly flawless, Victor still found himself frequently plagued by nightmares of Henry, William, Justine and his own creation, only finding comfort in the soft whispering of his lover when he awoke him.   
On a pleasantly mild Thursday morning, however, Dorian returned to his love only to find him pale with an expression of the deepest anxiety etched into his delicate features, his hands shaking as he held a letter to his face.   
“Victor! What is the matter, my love?” He exclaimed, throwing himself down on the bed where the boy sat.   
Wordlessly, he handed Dorian the letter, which he read and learned that it had be sent by Victor’s father, imploring him to return home immediately and marry Elizabeth so as to finally bring joy to their devastated family. As he finished reading, Dorian could not help but choke out a forced laugh, his heart heavy at the subject. Victor rested a hand on his shoulder.  
“He came to me Henry’s murder and though he suggested that the marriage would be good, I had never expected him to become so insistent!” He explained, and though he tried to keep calmness present in his voice, there was a touch of hysteria to his words that he could not disguise.   
“This marriage,” Dorian murmured, his voice weak and quiet. “For how long has it been arranged?”  
He searched Victor’s eyes pleadingly, hoping that something could be done to end the engagement. No such answer gave itself away.  
“For as long as I can remember. It was all my mother wanted for us before she passed away.”  
His words cut deeply into Dorian, and for a while nothing more was said. Then, Dorian picked himself up, his face dull yet smiling as tears welled gently in his eyes.   
“Perhaps then you could take me with you, to see Geneva as we once discussed?”  
Victor stared at him with a hopelessly incredulous expression.   
“You are so suddenly unaffected by this?” He said, and he could not help but feel hurt at the ease with which Dorian discarded him romantically. The latter grinned at him with the cunning of a fox.   
“Oh no, not so unaffected! Victor, your father is grieving! There is no joy in your family, only loss! But how wonderful would it be for you to introduce a new, kind friend to them all? To show them that happiness does not need to be forced through matrimony!”  
He spoke with such opulent excitement that Victor could scarcely think to flaw his plans, and instead smiled blithely at his lover.   
“Perhaps such an idea would be effective- though you are entirely aware that you would be perceived only as a friend and nothing more than that?”  
Though the thought pained him, Dorian nodded, his eyes still eager with optimism, and he once more sank to the bed and climbed atop his lover, littering his face with kisses as the latter laughed at him.   
“For me to remain by you like this, I would perform as anything, dear, dear Victor.” He said gaily, and hoisted Victor’s legs around his waist, his hair falling in his smiling face as he did so.   
Still laughing, Victor inched his face to meet Dorian’s, where he kissed his lips sweetly and said, quietly, yet loud enough to make Dorian’s heart flutter, “I love you.”

They travelled to Geneva on the following Monday, arriving late in the night to Belrive where Alphonse Frankenstein and Elizabeth Lavenza awaited their arrival. Dorian was gladly awestruck by the beauty of the mountains surrounding their family house, and was met with a warm, auspicious welcome from the family.   
“How wonderful of you to visit, Mr Gray, Victor has written frequently to us of you!” Elizabth had told him, and though she seemed perfectly charming and lovely in every aspect of her character, Dorian felt he could not help but feel jealous of her betrothal to Victor. In any other circumstance, he was quite sure Elizabeth could be the kind of person he could fall very in love with, but she appeared to him as plain and uninteresting when compared to her fiancé.   
“And he has spoken lovingly of you, Miss Lavenza, though please, call me Dorian.” He said, and despite his feelings of jealousy, he behaved to her as he would with any other young lady, with grace and charm and perhaps a hint of flirtation.   
Alphonse had greeted him just as gladly, though he achingly said that he “would be completely elated if Dorian were to attend the wedding.”  
As the day was finished, they did not chat for long, and instead each retired for the night. Dorian was shown to a guest room, though he noticed that it was conveniently close by to Victor’s room, the latter of whom smiled as he pointed this fact out.   
“So of course,” he said, his eyes transfixed on Dorian’s. “If you need anything at all, I am right here.”  
He gave him a smile that perhaps resembled more of a smirk, before turning into his own room. Dorian spent little time unpacking in the guest room before re-joining his lover, where they simply slept comfortably in each other’s arms.   
After breakfast the next day, Dorian found he was losing faith in his happy plan of saving Victor from marriage when he was involved in talk of wedding plans between the whole family. Worse still, he and Victor discovered also that the wedding was to take place within the next three days, which was justified by Alphonse’s desperation to see his wife’s dying wish carried out as soon as possible.  
“Truly, we have been planning this wedding for the past two decades!” He had exclaimed, and his face was soft as he remembered his late wife. “It was all she wanted, to see Victor married to Elizabeth.”  
At such words, Dorian felt a desperate urge to berate the man before him for forcing two people to marry simply for his own amusement. One look at his happy face, however, told him that truly this was all the old man had to live for at this point, and suddenly Dorian knew that he had made a mistake by coming here.   
He left the wedding planning, and though he had made his mind up simply to brood away in the guestroom, Victor stood up with him and offered to walk with him a while outside, to which he agreed to do.   
They wandered in silence over verdant planes under serene skies, the occasional cloud covering the sun as it peaked beyond the mountains. Eventually, they arrived to an expansive blue lake, and his mind was cast back to their first kiss overlooking the Thames just over a week ago. At this, he sat down and wept.   
“Dorian!” Victor gasped, the display of such painful sorrow catching him off guard. He knelt beside the youth and cradled his head, his hands stroking gently as his hair.   
“How is it that I have only known you for little over a month, and yet I love you more than my heart can take?” He sobbed, and he pulled himself away from Victor’s embrace to clasp at his lover’s face instead. “I cannot do this, I know that I can’t! It will hurt too much to see you wed to that lovely girl, and she has waited far longer than I have for your love!”  
He smoothed his fingers over Victor’s face, trying hard to imprint the memory of him on his mind forever, before he kissed him, his lips desperate never to let go.  
Once they had drawn their mouths from one and other, Victor found that he too felt tears prick his eyes, his heart heavy with guilt at being the cause of yet more and more suffering. He looked at Dorian, who despite the tears down his face, was smiling at him with a look of desperate hysteria.   
“I cannot stay here, Victor, I have to leave,” he declared, and he arose from the grass, dew lightly glimmering around him as he dusted himself off.  
“Dorian, please, you cannot leave so soon! I beg of you, stay here with me, we shall find a way to-“  
“To break your father’s heart? To ruin the only good thing that girl has in her life? To disappoint your dead mother?”  
He spoke these words with a wrenching harshness, his voice angry with an inferno that scorched Victor’s heart with abandon. The latter stared at him in betrayal of his cruelness, and rose himself from the ground.   
“I assure you, if she had seen what I have done so far in my life, she would already be hopelessly disappointed and ashamed of me.”  
While in his mind his thoughts turned to the creature, Dorian rashly assumed he was referring to their relationship, and with a cold sneer, he spoke.  
“Then I no longer care to be a part of your disappointments.”  
He gazed at Victor with a look reminiscent of pity, and Victor felt in his soul as though he would never truly feel anything remotely comparable to joy again, though he was determined not to cry in front of the cause for such sorrow.   
They walked, further apart from each other than ever before, and as they meandered through the grass, and from the sky fell drops of rain; delicate and unnoticeable at first, yet ever growing fatter and angrier, and it was then that Victor allowed the tears in his eyes to fall and blend imperfectly with the streaks of water tumbling from the heavens.  
The evening was tainted by bitter heartbreak, though of course, this went largely unnoticed by the rest of the household due to Victor’s frequent temperament, though his despair did earn him several concerned looks from, Elizabeth, who in her gentle nature fretted constantly for those around her.   
Though his heart remained broken and scornful, Dorian was able to make a polite and convincing excuse for his early departure, devising some tale of an elderly, sick uncle awaiting him back in London.   
He retired to his room, a coach having been sent for him that very evening, and he wearily packed his bags with a disinterested pace, the dim light of the room doing nothing to improve his downcast mood. As he finished his task, he heard a gentle knock on his door, and when he bid his visitor to enter, he found himself feeling even less auspicious if that were possible.   
“Victor, I do not wish to speak to you.” He said, turning his head from the boy and folding his arms like an indignant child. “It would be best if we allow for no farewells between us, now if you would please leave me-“  
“Your ring,” Victor said, gently. He held out the small item of jewellery in his palm, offering it with a sheepish jerk forwards to Dorian. He locked his eyes on Dorian’s as the latter turned to face him, and in his eyes he observed the build of tears, hopeless yet passionate, though he tried to blink them away.   
“It is of no importance to me now, you may keep it.”  
“But-“  
“Please.” And at this his voice cracked and no longer could Dorian restrain his tears as they flooded his face, trickling down his chin like a storm.  
Without any such more words than this, Victor embraced him, permitting the boy to weep into his shoulder as he held him with every ounce of love left within him. He understood the reasoning for their parting, and perhaps he found that he had cried so much these past years of his life that there were no more tears left to shed. He simply comforted his only love with all that he could.   
Eventually, Dorian’s tears ceased and Victor drew back his arms. He reached into his pocket, producing an envelope from his pocket and pressing it into Dorian’s hand. At Dorian’s request, he had kept the ring, slipping it onto his finger in place of where a wedding ring should reside.   
“I would like you to read this letter when you return to London, if that is agreeable,” he murmured, and Dorian nodded with a determined acceptance. His eyes were still glistening from his emotive display, and everything within Victor was screaming at him to beg him to stay.   
Instead, and with a heart heavy with longing and tragedy, Victor pressed one final, possessively loving kiss to Dorian’s lips, knowing truly that this would be the last time he would ever see the boy. Fate had a hold on him in the form of his daemonic creation, and he was certain that the monster would see to it that there would be no more happiness form this point on.


	8. The Only Letter That Mentions Dorian

Dorian had read the letter as soon as he had returned to his home, despite the pressing weariness from his journey and the strong sense of nausea he felt from crying so bitterly. The letter read as follows:

To my Dorian,  
I should hope that by the time you read this, perhaps you will have forgiven me and the course of fate, though I never think I shall quite be at peace with myself. I understand that you are considerate of my family, more so than I have been, and for that I praise you. Though my heart belongs to you, and you alone, such a future is not to be. For the sake of Elizabeth, I only hope I am capable of forgetting you soon, though I do not perceive how I could! Within such little time you have given me more love than I ever could have deserved, shown me the art of living, and freed me of my fears for long enough to teach me that true happiness does not need to be tainted by the anxieties that stain this world and life. Such a gift, I could never match even with an eternity of time to search. I can only hope that you too found something wonderful in the love I feel for you, present and future tense. In addition to my love however, I wish also to give you this locket that belonged once to my mother. When you wear it, I shall pray you think happily of our time together, as I know that I always will.   
I love you.  
Victor

As detailed in the letter, Dorian found also in the envelope a delicately formed locket, beautifully engraved with the initials ‘V.F’. He clutched at the chain for a moment, his eyes gently scanning the letter repeatedly as he memorised each of the words penned in front of him. He fastened the chain around his neck, his fingers tracing lightly over the engraving as he readied himself to sleep alone in his bed for the first time in little over a week. A week! How long the hours had seemed, an eternity contained within days, a happiness so rare and so fleeting! To think in depth of the loss would have surely brought Dorian once more to tears, though he found himself too exhausted and too weak to lament, and so instead fell deeply into an unhappy slumber, in which he dreamt of wandering through the charred remains of a house scorned by fire. He felt incomparable numbness in his heart as he walked through the ashes of something that had once been a home, and the sky outside was plain grey and misty. He hoped he would forget this dream by time he woke.   
When he did wake, he found that already he had a visitor, and before he was even out of bed, Lord Henry had made himself known.   
“Dorian! I had heard you were back earlier than planned, though I could not conceive any idea as to why,” he said, his voice, as always, much too loud for this time in the day. “What has become of Mr Frankenstein? I received your letter regarding Mr Clerval, dreadful news as well! Such a kind young man he seemed.”  
Still filled with a sense of numbness, Dorian could only nod and grunt in response to Lord Henry’s questions, and he thought to himself how grateful he was that he could not get a word in edgeways even if he wished to. By the end of their one-sided conversation, he had informed his friend of the murder in detail, and his trip to Geneva, stating that he went there for the wedding, instead of with the intention of stopping it. He felt sick.   
“In fact, Harry, I should much appreciate it if you were to leave me now, I am quite exhausted from the journey,” he said, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. His temperature appeared normal and yet he felt entirely close to death with heartbreak, his mind fleetingly drifting to thoughts of Victor preparing for his wedding at this very moment. He wondered what he was feeling. Was he nervous? Lonely? He wondered who was with him, whether they would notice his grief or if it would remain ignored. He hoped Victor would wear his ring as long as possible.   
Thinking of this, his hands once more trailed up to the locket hanging around his neck, thumbing the pendant until it opened, and he observed within a miniature, of a radiant young woman, her hair fair and light on her waist, as she held on her lap a small child, a boy, with thick dark hair and rosebud smile, his arms clasping happily at his mother. The sight warmed Dorian greatly, and he smiled back at the young boy, and before he closed the locket, he whispered softly to the child, some gentle words of comfort, laced with melancholy.   
“I hope that you are able to find some happiness, now.”  
It would be months until Dorian found out that his blessing had had no effect.


	9. Let No More Life Divide

Over a year had passed since Dorian’s last encounter with Victor, and to all those who knew him well, he seemed to have forgotten the whole affair. There were certainly rumours that threatened this claim, rumours of Dorian spending much time with unsavoury young men in dark alleyways, boys always with dark hair and dark eyes, if one wished to profile them.   
Yet most did not believe these sleazy allegations, for Dorian seemed lively as ever, and just a few weeks after he had returned from Geneva did he once more partake in going out with Lord Henry each evening. He would also have spent time with Basil as well, surely, but he quite disappeared all of a sudden one late evening when he was due to arrive in Paris.   
“I believe poor Basil must have fallen into a canal when he was in Paris, or some other pathetic death took him there,” Harry had said. “A boring death for a boring life, don’t you think?”  
Dorian had nodded without saying anything more on the subject, and had instead moved on to talk of travel, when Lord Henry interjected with a manic expression in his eyes.   
“Goodness, that quite reminds me!” he exclaimed, his voice rasping from the effort of containing his excitement. “My, this will interest you greatly, I should think, Dorian.”  
“Good heavens, Harry, whatever is it?” He laughed, leaning his chin on his hand as he sipped champagne. He was certain he was about to hear some hilarious anecdote when he was quite taken off guard.  
“Do you remember that boy, that Victor Frankenstein you became close to during the autumn of last year?”  
Dorian choked.   
“Well, certainly, yes, I do. Why, you know what became of him?”  
“Indeed I do!” Lord Henry proclaimed in pride, though he lowered his voice in a most unusual manner. “Quite a scandal, it would seem.”  
“How so?”  
“Well, I met with a good friend of mine, Margaret Saville, just yesterday in fact. She does not go out so frequently, but she arranged to meet as she had a peculiar story she wished to share with me. Of course, I obliged, and she revealed to me a series of letters that had arrived to her from her brother, Mr Robert Walton. He’d been at sea for months when he came across a young, terrifyingly emaciated man near the arctic, and you shall never guess who it was!”  
A terrible nausea took hold of Dorian.   
“Who?”  
“Why, Victor Frankenstein! I know, I know, how strange! Margaret had no idea that I knew the man, and so she was even more intrigued when I told her I recognised the name. Her brother rescued and nursed the man, gaining his trust above all others in the crew. Eventually, he agreed to share his story with Mr Walton, and my, what a fanatical account it was! I’m sure it must be fiction, just a tale to entertain the captain, but nonetheless!”  
Dorian could not focus on Lord Henry’s excited account of Victor’s life, nor his exclaims regarding the creature Victor had made. He simply stared deep into his glass, watching the bubbles rise up and burst pathetically over, and over.   
After a moment, he interrupted Lord Henry with desperation in his tone.  
“Did he ever mention me? In this story, was I ever involved?”  
“Oh no, I’m afraid not. Though the murder of Mr Clerval was so bitterly described, simply reading it nearly brought even me to tears! Yes, it was an exquisite, yet tragic tale, indeed.”  
“Tragic? How so?”  
“Ah, I have not told you that part. Victor became married, though his wife was murdered on their wedding night! Such a pity, she sounded rather lovely from the letters. Afterwards, the boy tried to pursue and kill the creature, though it appears fate was not on his side. He died in complete misery of failure according to the final letter, poor child.”  
“He what?!”  
“Dorian, console yourself!”  
His ears were deaf to any more words that Lord Henry told him, his heart pounding so hard, he feared it may be expelled from his chest. He stood, shaking, from his chair, and making no excuse he fled from the club where he and Harry had occupied their time. He ran, though his shoes were not made for it, until he reached his own home where he locked the door and sank to the floor, tears silently streaming down his face from both the cold and his own unfathomable grief.   
It was true, that Victor has passed away in misery, not only from his failure to destroy his creature, but in despair that he should never see Dorian again, as he had hoped. He had told Captain Walton of his affair with Dorian, though he perceived that the man made no effort to record it in his manuscript. It angered him slightly, though he was too weak to protest. The world was doomed to never know of their love, and though it pained him, Victor tried to accept it. He died with Dorian’s ring on his finger, and the taunting words of the creature in his ear telling him that perhaps he would be able to destroy Dorian after all. 

Dead! Dorian could scarcely believe it, though he knew it in his heart to be true. He covered his mouth as he tried to stifle his painful sobbing, though it was to no avail. In this moment, he hated the garish decorations of his home, as they appeared to mock him in his malady. Angrily, he tore himself from where he cowered, and went in determination up the stairs to a room which could mirror his mood of despair. He unlocked the attic door and retreated inside.   
Once inside, he relished the darkness that enveloped him, the November sun having set some hours before. He continued to weep for some time, surrounded by nothing more than dark memories, and his portrait of sin. His eyes were automatically drawn to the bloodstains that had further marred the image after he had murdered Basil some weeks ago.   
He sat in that room for hours, until he heard his servants moving around downstairs in the youthful morning, when he eventually stood up, and approached the picture.   
“It is only now I understand that this picture has never been kind to me. Once I believed I was fortunate to never age or change with sin, yet now I realise that that is a curse on its own!” He cried, and as he lamented, his eyes flitted to the knife that he had used to stab poor Basil, still gleaming in the fresh light of the sun, tempting him with the fate of Juliet.   
He picked up the evil thing in his pale hands, smoothing his fingers across the blade, breaking the skin which appeared instantly healed and transferred to the picture.   
He locked eyes with his likeness, glaring at it before smiling to himself with pitiful, deranged hope.   
“Let no more life divide what death can join together,” he murmured, and with these final words, he lurched forward, plunging the knife into the portrait with an agonised shriek of pain.   
At once, upon hearing this, his servants assembled frantically in the room, letting out cries of disgust and fear as they witnessed the painting of their beautiful master, contrasting hideously to a decrepit corpse lying twisted on the floor. His skin was wrinkled and decaying, a knife stuck firmly in his chest. Though his visage was grotesque and malformed, he did not seem at all distressed. Upon his lips was a smile, not unkind, but rather peaceful in appearance. Hopeful, even.


End file.
